


Mirror Worlds

by canadiansamm



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Azgeda Clarke Griffin, BAMF Clarke Griffin, Clurphy broship, F/M, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Reincarnation, Skaikru Bellamy, Slow Burn, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 10:57:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadiansamm/pseuds/canadiansamm
Summary: Time isn't linear. It doesn't flow one way or another. You can't go backwards or forwards. Clarke finds that out the hard way.





	Mirror Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> So, welcome an idea I've had bouncing around in my head for a month. It's got all the favourites! Grounder Clarke! Bellarke! Clurphy! Basically what I kinda wish would have happened if Clarke had been born on the ground instead of the Ark.

The next shiver ran through Clarke’s body like an electrical current. Her hands spasmed and her shoulders pushed forward, closer to her body, without her control. Sometimes it hurt. Her body would bend unexpectedly or her fingers would curl too tightly. This time was one of them. Her hands hurt. Her toes hurt. Her shoulders hurt and her ribs _ached_. Behind her, Murphy pressed his back closer to her. His warmth seeped through her threadbare clothes and heated her skin. It was funny to think that if Murphy hadn’t been locked up with her Clarke would have been dead by now. She chuckled weakly.

“What’s so funny Princess?” There was a warmth in Murphy’s voice that had never there when they first landed.

“Could you imagine us being friends, keeping each other alive when we first got here?” Her voice was raspier than she remembered. Probably from the lack of water. They’d been splitting what little Ontari’s people gave them. She chuckled again, trailing off into a wheezing cough. “Clarke Griffin and John Murphy, partners at the end.”

His chuckle was loud in the quiet cell. It rumbled through her back and chest. “I’m pretty sure we would have killed each other if I’d stayed in camp. Or Bellamy would have. No chance of us being friends before the ground started picking us off one by one.”

Her body shuddered, but not with the cold this time. Instead, it was the pure grief that came with one name and the ones that were always attached to it. Bellamy. Emory. Raven. Harper. Monty. Each name was carved into her ribs. Their screams and whimpers as they died echoed in her mind. It was a wonder that Clarke and Murphy were the only ones left alive. Barely. The last to die had been Harper. She’d been the test subject of a new poison Ontari had her warriors making. She’d died crying into Clarke’s arms. Clarke was meant to watch each of them die. Ontari saw her as their leader. Saw Wanheda, the commander of death, protecting her people and took them away from her. The only saving grace Clarke had was that, somewhere out there, Octavia was safe in Trikru.

“Sorry, Clarke,” Murphy pressed a little harder.

Clarke opened her mouth, ready to tell him not to worry about it but instead, a cough forced its way out. It heaved through her body, shaking her enough that Murphy had to turn and rub her back through the fit. Her chest clenched tightly and Clarke couldn’t breathe. She could hear Murphy speaking softly, his warm hand soothing circles between her shoulder blades. One more cough racked through her and the familiar taste of copper exploded on her tongue.

“It’s getting worse,” Murphy stated, his voice flat and dull. He pulled Clarke back against his chest and she relaxed into him. Warmth wrapped her up and soaked into her cold bones. “At this rate, you’ll die before I do.”

Clarke tucked herself in closer as Murphy drew their two blankets around them both. “My fight’s not over yet. You’re stuck with me for a while longer.”

“Stubborn as always.” Murphy pressed his cheek against blonde hair.

 

* * *

 

The two Skaikru stayed like that, feeding heat between each other and keeping one another sane until their limbs went numb. It was halfway through Clarke’s second coughing fit that blood spewed from her lips and onto the icy floor. Murphy drew her closer, using the edge of one of their blankets to wipe away the blood from her mouth. It didn’t hurt past the ache in her chest and the numbness in her fingers and toes but Clarke could imagine what was going on inside of her. She’d studied so much on the Ark for something like this. An infection slowly working through her system, poisoning her from the inside out.

“Murphy,” Clarke started only to cough again.

“Shut up, Princess. You don’t need to talk right now.”

“Looks like I won’t be making it longer than you after all,” she wheezed.

“Clarke, enough. You’re going to be fine.” His arms tighten around her. “You’re going to live to see me die.”

“I’m getting weaker, Murphy. I can barely feel the cold anymore.”

“That’s good, isn’t it? You don’t feel cold anymore.”

Clarke shook her head slowly. Even a small action like that made her dizzy. “I have a fever. My body temperature is rising too quickly.”

A voice cut in from the other side of the door. “So the great Wanheda’s soul is leaving us.”

Murphy jolted, jostling Clarke’s body too. Keys rattled and then the door was opening. Stepping inside was a woman, elderly and white-haired. She wore black furs and no face paint but her skin was covered in blue tattoos. She walked into the cell, regal and tall. It reminded Clarke of Nia.

Warriors flanked her sides, each taking stance beside the door. It was more of a surprise that they didn’t hear the heavy boots and shifting metal. Their faces were drawn and showed nothing. Clarke wondered if this was it. Ontari had sent someone to kill Murphy in front of her before she died herself. This woman, with her hawk eyes and silent steps, would kill the last of the Skaikru.

“Get away,” Murphy spat as he drew Clarke closer to him. It only took him a second to go back on guard.

The woman gave him a brief, unimpressed look before crouching in front of the pair. If this woman knew anything about them she wouldn’t be so calm around Murphy. She’d know about his uncanny ability to fight his way through anything. _Especially_ if he was protecting someone. He was a fox, ready to battle the snake snapping at his kit.

“Clarke Griffin kom Skaikru, the great Wanheda and prisoner of our feared Heda. I’ve come to offer you life.”

Murphy tensed around her when the woman held out her hand. The pale skin, wrinkled and aged practically glowed in the dark. His arms clenched her closer. “I’m warning you now. Get. Away.”

This time the woman’s eyes lingered on Murphy. This close Clarke could see that her eyes were such a pale blue that they were almost white. “John Murphy kom Skaikru, the Fleimkepa chosen by Titus. Warrior to his people and the final protector of their leader.” She retracted her hand and pressed it against her heart. “Your loyalty is admirable but your leader is dying. Your loyalty means nothing if it keeps you leader from passing on peacefully.”

“You said you were offering _life_ ,” he snarled. Clarke easily imagined sharp teeth and curled lips.

“Calm yourself. This life I offer may not be in this world, but it is in the next. A chance to do it over, to keep Ontari off the throne. To save your people. To see our world through different eyes.”

Clarke could barely hear over the pounding in her ears. Her blood was rushing too fast, her heart beating too quickly. Another cough rolled through her and more blood filled her mouth. She leaned over, spitting the blood onto the floor between her and the Azgeda. The woman barely blinked, just reached out a hand and soothed Clarke’s hair back from her face.

“You are a strong spirit, Wanheda but you will need a push to go into the next life. And that is what I’m here for.”

“Who are you,” Clarke croaked out.

The woman smiled. “My name is Jaida and I’m a Seerer and healer for a village far in the North.” She had wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and around her mouth. She looked like she laughed more than Clarke could imagine. “Your soul sang to me all the way from the capital.”

Clarke mouthed her name back before nestling her head back on Murphy’s shoulder. Her chest was moving faster in the cocoon of blankets. Up and down, faster then her breathing should have been. Logically she knew her body was going into septic shock. Physically she could barely feel.

“So what would happen to me? When Clarke _leaves_.”

“Your soul will go with hers once you pass. Your soul isn’t nearly as strong but it’s tied to Wanheda’s like nothing I’ve seen before. You will suffer but you’ll find yourself at her side again.” Her voice was nonchalant and she stood from her crouched place. “I hope you’ll both find your peace.”

Clarke watched through barely open eyes as Jaida took a bottle from her belt and passed it on to Murphy. He took it gently and cradled it in front of Clarke. “And what do we do with this?”

“When she’s ready, when you’ve said your goodbyes, have her drink it. It will extinguish her life in this world and allow her to wake in the next.”

With that the woman turned, her furs sweeping over the stone ground, and left the cell. Her guards followed behind without a second glance at the two huddled on the floor. Clarke chuckled, the sound was weak and breathy, and pulled the blankets closer to them.

“To live I have to die,” she whispered into the dirty shirt she was pressed against.

The little bottle was still in a gentle grip, protected in Murphy’s palm.

“And I’ll be next,” he replied softly. “Ontari won’t make my death easy.”

“You never know,” she whispered back. “You always were her favourite.”

“Till she found out I was trying to smuggle out her favourite prisoners.”

A wave of nausea twisted her stomach and Clarke groans, curling into herself. Murphy made a small, distressed noise and Clarke didn’t like it. The sound made her chest clench even more than the ache of her lungs pushing and pulling air too quickly.

“We should hurry,” Clarke murmured.

“Clarke,” he trailed off.

"I'm tired of all this suffering." She thought of Mount Weather. Of the six hundred her people killed. Lexa. Her back throat tightened and her eyes were welling with years of tears she hadn't been able to shed. "I miss our friends. I miss my parents. I miss-" a sob rose up and cut her off. Tears spilt over her cheeks.

"I get it, Princess. I miss them all too," he breathed. "But if everything's different? What if we're separated. What if Emory-" he cut himself off.

Clarke made soft soothing sounds, lifting a hand and resting it on his chest. He would be alone after she died, poison or not. Murphy and Clarke had been through so much together. The drop ship and Polis and Ontari and their God damn cell. She wanted to believe that they’d meet again. That their suffering bonded them. And if that suffering bound Clarke and Murphy maybe the others were waiting on the other side.

"We both know the ground isn't a forgiving place. But I have faith for the next time around." Her voice was getting weaker. Her eyes were heavy but tears still rolled. She didn’t believe any of the crap she was saying. Just hoped. "I'm so tired, John. I don’t think I’d care even if I didn’t wake up again.”

He tensed around her, and Clarke could imagine his frantic eyes, feel his firm hands adjusting her against him. "Clarke-"

"Give me it," she whispered. He hesitated. "We'll meet again."

The words pushed him into action. His arms shifted, both hands coming into view as he fought the stopped out of the bottle, jostling her a bit. He was so much weaker now too. The last time she'd seen him without his shirt Clarke had seen his ribs under his pale skin. It had been stretched out across bone and almost translucent. She couldn't have been any better. Her poor friend. He suffered so much for her and what had she given back? Nothing. Murphy would have been fine if he'd stayed with Ontari. He'd be a slave, but he wouldn't be about to die. He wouldn't have had to watch his love die. Wouldn't have seen Clarke slowly waste away.

Something damp and warm hit her face at the same time Murphy uncorked the tiny bottle. Clarke forced her head up, seeing the tear tracks in the dirt on his face. His mouth was forced into a stubborn line and his greasy hair had fallen into his face. He didn't meet her eyes so Clarke lifted a hand, noticed how badly she shook, and cupped his jaw to turn him towards her. Murphy's dark blue eyes darted up to hers before focusing on her cheek.

"Hey," she started. "We will meet again. All of us."

He met her eyes again, his unnaturally bright and always focused, and Clarke saw the moment Murphy gave in completely. He was afraid still, of course he was, but he trusted her. Clarke just hoped she wasn't wrong.

Tears fell freely between them as Murphy lifted the bottle to Clarke's lips and tipped. The liquid inside was bitter. It had a chalky aftertaste and made her nauseous stomach act up even more. But then she felt it. The heavy pull of her eyes. The way her body started relaxing. She'd been tense without even realizing it. Who knows for how long. The last of the cold seeped out of her bones and Clarke lost sense of where she really was.

"See you on the other side, Clarke."

Then the world went black.


End file.
